


i think i made you up inside my head

by freezinginbristol



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Platonic Relationships, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 17:05:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6574624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freezinginbristol/pseuds/freezinginbristol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Needles and summer storms don't usually go together, but somehow they make it work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ONE

It had been her idea, surprisingly enough.

Looking back on it now, he thinks the confession, or in her case, confirmation, came from the shifting in weather on both their fronts. He remembers her back on his bed with a book in her hands above her, while he scans some article about hunting regulations on their shared border before her voice breaks the silence.

"I want to get high."

He pauses, frowning slightly and a part of him hoping to God he didn't hear her correctly before turning in his chair. "What?"

Canada's eyes are still scanning the pages in her book, bare feet thumping against the baseboard of the bed. "Before the weather changes." Her eyes move to lock onto his, violet slightly darker in the shifting of light on the cloudy day. America blinks, once, twice, and rolls his eyes with a slight smirk, turning back to his computer screen.

"And how do you expect to do that?"

He's halfway to finding his place on the page again and his mind is filling with information and statistics and rules before her two words are enough to knock them out completely, sending a shiver down his spine.

"With you."


	2. TWO

Forgive his invisible perceptiveness, but he almost can't concentrate on his paperwork about oil and natural resources because the electricity building in his body and shifting from across his border and into hers is like bugs crawling underneath his skin. America bites his lip, and tries to ignore the itch underneath his flesh despite the rolling clouds.

She's in the living room of the hotel suite, feet on the table with one hand scratching Kuma's ear and the other flipping through channels before he comes in, sitting down on the couch next her and snatching the remote from her hands.

Four minutes and a slightly bumped polar bear later, she's managed to pin him to the ground, legs on either side of his waist as she holds his wrists above his head with one hand and tosses the remote on the couch with the other.

"Dead." Canada says, breaths fanning her brother's face in a mix of fatigue and laughter. He smirks then, shifting himself dramatically before she finds her body being thrown off kilter and on the ground with her now in his previous position.

"Dead." America repeats, and he can't hold back the feeling of something static going from her to him. By the time he lets her up, they sit on the couch with a polar bear between them, trying to ignore whatever the meteorologist was saying on the TV screen.


	3. THREE

She's wearing his shirt.

Granted, the sight itself is nothing to be surprised at, he had found random articles of his clothing, mostly in the form of old t-shirts and pajamas on her person and in his possession. But still, it may be a mixture of his exhaustion and irritability that he stops to address the situation.

"That's mine." he deadpans, shrugging off his bomber jacket and tossing it to the floor. She only looks up for a moment from her position, bare foot pressing into the fur of the polar bear half asleep on the floor while her eyes had been scanning the words of The Man in the High Castle before answering him.

"I'm aware."

That answer doesn't seem to placate him, however, and he's halfway in the middle of his rant about keys and locks and belongings and it is so ironic due to the amount of times he has entered her own home when her eyes catch sight of the rawness of his knuckles and then she's already displeased.

He doesn't stop his words, now slipping into a jumble of French and English as one hand pulls him down to the couch with her, curling around his bicep as he sits and the other pressing against his chest as a firm reminder of her presence and his need to calm down.

His eyes close and his words fade off into nothing as he inhales slowly though his nose, trying to calm his already increasing heartbeat.

"You think too much." she mutters, positioning herself onto her knees now beside him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, fingers threading through his hair. America snorts, turning slight to press his face into her shoulder.

"I'd like to see you stop that."

Her tugging slightly at his hair prompts him to lift his head up and two pairs of eyes look at the small box on his coffee table. Canada smirks slightly, ruffling her brother's blond hair before speaking.

"Why do you think I'm here?"


	4. FOUR

Teeth pull at the rubber tube, making it taunt against pale skin before Madeline steals a glance at her brother. He's studying her again, disheveled hair and the picture of something darker coming out of her body that he feels he's responsible for, but she only flashes him a slight smile as he lights a match.

Both their noses wrinkle at the smell, the haze already starting to fill the room as he holds the spoon above the flame and she sets up the syringe.

"Don't do drugs, kids." he says and she snorts, pulling in the stimulant from the spoon through the hypodermic needle. Somewhere, miles away, he can feel the storm flittering along his border, and he wonders if he traces her spine she'll feel the same thing.

"As if." she responds, fingers now tracing along the lines of his veins, red and blue rives of blood and information that she hated to feel at times before he braces himself and slips the needle into his skin.

The rush comes first, a sort of numbness in his body and he shivers to realize the pulse in his veins is not his own but hers, her own life blood humming inside of him like they were one soul in two different bodies. He can hear Vivaldi in the background, and wonders if it was him who put it or her.

Then comes the storm.

Both literal and figurative, as Canada's fingers dig into the carpet with the flash of thunder that moved in a teasing space between both their borders and a part of her wants to end him, consume him, crush his damn superpower hero complex into the ground until there was nothing left, but the feeling in her high of his fingers somehow running along her arms is something to behold.

Somehow she's up and moving to the sound of violins before he joins her in some twisting space of limbs and air and the sweet sweet sweet release that was heroin. The clouds roll, and her head falls back against his shoulder with the flash of lightening across his sky, while his hands keep her steady despite the cold shooting down his spine at the wind moving along her provinces. It brings something sad to mind, some half imagined memory of nothing but dark and warmth and her before spilling out into the world and he can feel her feel her feel her feel her feel them-


	5. FIVE

A part of her wonders how they got upstairs and another part wonders about the buzzing in the back of her skull.

The waking up after is heavy, especially after such a clearheaded, intimate rush from the evening previous; she can still feel the humming of his pulse in her wrists like an afterthought, and her head slowly turns to meet his gaze, America's fingers brushing the mess of her hair.

They hadn't even changed from last night, somehow falling into his bed in a tangle of limbs and an ever decreasing high. His hand moves up her arm and she watches with half lidded eyes his fingers trace along the small injection sight on her pale skin. Canada gives a slight shudder, and he can feel the action mirrored in the back of his mind, along with the leftover aftertaste of cold skies and heavy rainfall across land that wasn't his on his tongue.

The melding was always a difficult thing and never this concentrated before, never as compact. It doesn't even really feel like his body, he notes, and traces along her veins before the smell of fresh water rivers fill his nostrils and the hardness of he knuckles gives way to the ranges of hills and valleys.

He's selfish enough to know they'll hold onto this longer than necessary.

Later, she suffers a new form of consequences as they walk in Pike Place Market, and as they pass by the throngs of people on the cold and cloudy day, she sees one of his citizens and knows him (Robert Parker, 35, two kids, radiologist, became one ever since he and his wife Elizabeth broke their arms as kids-) and shakes her head, trying to get out that feeling in her stomach.

America tries not to wince at the taste of fresh salmon blooming in his mouth when she eats a sample from the nice fisherman in the square.


End file.
